


Mon petit tournesol

by CocotteJenn



Series: Dragon Age - Warden Nemea Surana AU [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Treatment of Mages, Canon-Typical Violence, Children, Fluff, Gen, Harm to Children, Mages and Templars, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Possible Character Death, Pre-Dragon Age: Origins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 02:06:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CocotteJenn/pseuds/CocotteJenn
Summary: Nemea Surana is four years old when the Templars come for her and her mother.





	Mon petit tournesol

**Author's Note:**

  * For [no_id_no_person](https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_id_no_person/gifts).



> Nemea is my dear Tumblr friend @liveinthehills' OC. This story is mostly based on her headcanons.

It was a warm Tuesday morning. The sun was shining high in the sky. Mama was singing a tune in a language Nemea did not understand, but she liked it very much. The melody was catchy. The two of them were in the kitchen, baking bread, and she was helping her mother knead the dough with her very tiny hands. She had always loved those tender moments shared with her mother.

“All right, time to let it rest for a little while,” Mama told her, taking her small hands in hers to pull them off the dough. She grabbed Nemea under the arms and lifted her off the stool she had been sitting on. “Sweet Maker! Look at all the flour on your dress!” She smiled and tickled her daughter. Nemea giggled and wiggled out of her grasp. She started to run around the room, hopping on her little legs. Her mother chased after her. When she caught up to her, Mama ruffled her blond curls with a laugh. She then kissed her cheek, pulling her into a warm embrace.

A noise outside the house interrupted them. Muffled voices. Mama jumped at the sound. Nemea looked up at her. She wasn't smiling anymore. She looked scared. Like that time Nemea had bent over the edge of the river and nearly fallen. But worse.

“Listen, _mon tournesol_ ,” Mama whispered, kneeling down to her level. “We’re going to play hide and seek for a little while. You go hide in a very very good spot and you don't come out until I say so. Do you understand?” Nemea nodded twice. “Good. Now off you go!”

She hurried to her favourite hiding spot. There was a space at the back of the bed where she fitted perfectly with her small size. It was a little difficult to access, but no one had ever found her there. It was a _very very good spot_ , just like Mama had asked. She crept under the bed and crawled all the way to the back until she reached the wall. She slid behind the small wooden panel and waited.

A gruff masculine voice came from the front door. “Violette Surana?”

“Nope,” Mama told the man. “I’m afraid you must have gotten the wrong house, Ser.”

“Your phylactery says otherwise, mage,” another man commented. “Come with us peacefully.”

From her hiding spot, Nemea heard a loud noise, something that sounded like the cracking of thunder. But how? It had still been sunny outside when she had sneaked under the bed less than a minute ago.

Other noises followed, each louder than the last. Nemea recognized the sounds of glass shattering and chairs falling, then something that reminded her of how she had once tried to make music by banging a spoon on a rusty metallic bucket. Mama was yelling in a foreign language. The men were yelling back words that Nemea wasn't allowed to repeat. _They are hurting Mama_ , she thought.

Nemea crawled out of her hiding spot as fast as her tiny limbs allowed her to. Mama had said to stay hidden. But the bad men were hurting her. She had to do something. She had to protect her.

She ran to the main living area. There, she witnessed two men encircling Mama, backing her against a wall. They were tall and scary, wearing armour with some strange flower carved in the front. They each carried a sword in their hands and were ready to use it. Nemea knew swords were used by bad men to hurt people. That was what Mama had told her once, “ _Bad men with swords may come to hurt us someday. And when they do, I need you to run as fast as you can._ ” 

Nemea dashed toward the closest one, a brown-haired man with a neatly trimmed beard, and kicked him in the legs with as much strength as she could. “Stop hurting my Mama!”

For a moment, time seemed to stop. The room went silent. Mama stared at her in terror. The men shared a surprised look. Nemea started kicking again, and the bearded knight grabbed her little arm with force. Panic coursed through her veins. She felt it run up her arm, all the way to her small fingers. A bright light erupted from them, so bright she had to close her eyes. When she opened them again, the man's beard had caught fire. He let go of her to extinguish the small flame, long enough for Nemea to find refuge in her mother's arms.

“So you also have a mage brat with you now,” the other man sniggered. He was taller and older than the bearded man, with white hair falling over his shoulders and terrifying scars covering his face.

“No, it wasn't her,” Mama pleaded. “It was all me.” She stepped in front of Nemea, blocking her from the two men.

“Do you think us blind or stupid?” the brown-haired man snapped, his beard still emitting small threads of smoke. “The magic came from her hands.”

“Please, don't take her.” Mama started sobbing. It was the first time Nemea saw her mother cry. She didn't know adults even could. “I’m begging you. Please! I'll do anything. I'll go with you. Please don't take my daughter!”

“The child is a mage. It is our duty to take her to the Circle, and to take you back to yours.”

“No…” Mama whimpered. Nemea felt the air crackling around them for a brief moment. The two men must have felt it too for they each took a step back.

“Don't try anything stupid,” the bearded man warned her. “Would you really want to do this in front of your child?”

Mama held their gaze defiantly for a while. Nemea tugged at her hand in fear. _Please, don't leave me, Mama._ Her mother's eyes, shining with tears, softened as they landed on her.

“Can I say goodbye?” Mama asked weakly. He gave her a brief affirmative nod. She pulled her daughter into a warm embrace, holding onto her very tight, the way she had when Nemea had nearly fallen into the river. “You have to be strong now, _mon tournesol_.” She kissed each of Nemea's cheeks, then her forehead, something she usually only did before bedtime. “ _Mon joli petit tournesol…_ Never forget that I love you. I love you so so much.” Tears falling down her cheeks, she grabbed a small stuffed mabari that was lying on the floor and handed it to Nemea. Straw was coming out of a small hole on its belly, but Mama could repair it. She knew how to sew.

“Alright, that was long enough.” The bearded man pushed Mama aside and took Nemea by the arm again. She fought to get away, but his grip was strong.

“Mama!” she called.

The man dragged her toward the front door. Nemea started kicking and screaming again. She would not go anywhere without her mother.

“Mama!”

The door slammed shut behind them as they stepped outside. Nemea tried to escape from his grasp, but the man was so much stronger than she was… So instead, she stopped moving altogether, only to end up skidding in the dirt as he hauled her to his horse.

“MAMA!”

She heard screaming from inside the house. Mama's voice… A loud bang, and then… Nothing. Nemea's heavy sobs were the only sound breaking the silence. Mama was going to walk out the door any time now. She would take her away from the bad man.

But it was the white-haired man she saw coming out of the house, carrying her mother over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. His face was covered with soot and his nose was bleeding. There was anger in his eyes, a rage stronger than anything Nemea had ever seen before.

“Fucking knife-eared bitch,” he mumbled as he was strapping her listless body to his horse.

Mama didn't move. Not even to protest. She laid limply across the animal's back, her beautiful blond hair hanging loose in front of her.

“Mama?” Nemea called, her voice hoarse from all the screaming. “Mama?”

The bearded man carried her off the ground and placed her on his own horse before climbing to sit behind her. With a tug on the reins, he ordered the animal to walk. Nemea tried to look at the house one last time, but the imposing human man was blocking her view. She continued sobbing silently for miles, clutching hard at her stuffed mabari.

They rode for hours under the morning sun. The horse was incredibly uncomfortable. Nemea's butt was sore and the weather was getting so hot her dress was starting to stick to her sweaty skin. How the man could withstand it under his heavy armour was beyond her understanding. Curiosity was clawing at her, but she was too terrified of him to ask. Besides, the man talked and talked and kept talking. “You’re going to be living in a new home with other people like you. There, you will learn to control your magic and put it to good use. The Chantry says _blah blah blah._ ” Nemea barely listened to him. She wanted her Mama. Where did the white-haired man take her? She was hurt… 

Her stuffed mabari slipped from her grasp and fell to the ground. The man didn't notice or didn't care. At least, not until she started to cry. Loudly. She tried to wiggle out of his tight grip, almost falling off the horse too.

“Maker, give me strength,” the knight grunted.

The horse came to a halt as he pulled on the reins. He got off the steed and helped her down. Nemea kept crying, going as far as punching his legs again. It didn’t seem to phase him, though. In fact, it probably hurt her more than it did him.

“What do you want?” he asked in his gruff, scary voice.

She averted his eyes. She could feel his disapproval boring into her. Her stuffed mabari laid flat in the mud a few feet away from them. Nemea pointed to it, sniffling loudly. The man mumbled profanities as he walked the short distance between them and the toy. He quickly knelt to pick it up before shoving it in her arms.

“I'm not your father, girl. I’m not your caregiver. I’m not here to nurse you. It's not my duty to do so,” he told her, his tone harsh. “Do you understand?”

She nodded slowly, still not daring to meet his eyes. 

She heard him sigh. “Don't be sad, child.” His voice had softened a little. Squatting down to meet her at eye level, he tried to offer her what looked like a consoling smile. “I can't take you back to your mother, but I'm sure you'll make a lot of new friends once we reach the Circle.”

She didn't want new friends. She wanted her Mama. The man put his heavy hand on her shoulder. She recoiled at first, but his touch was gentle enough that it somewhat comforted her. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and, on impulse, wrapped her little arms around him in a tight hug. The man patted her shoulder softly before pulling away.

He put her back on the saddle. Nemea stayed silent for the remainder of the journey. She held onto her mabari more tightly. It was the last remaining thing connecting her to her mother. She would never let it go.


End file.
